


it can always be worse

by PeriPeriwinkle



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dating, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeriPeriwinkle/pseuds/PeriPeriwinkle
Summary: Dorian, a perfectionist and lover of all things symbolic, planned the evening down to the tiniest details. The restaurant. The boat. The walk in the park.The rings.Everything would go smoothly.It justwould.





	it can always be worse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pixial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixial/gifts).



> This is my Adoribull Holiday Exchange gift for Pixial!!! this was a ride and a half to write :D the prompt was: **"A very special date where everything goes wrong but also somehow ends up just right?"**
> 
> This was an extra gift I was working on bc I loved the prompt, but the original gifter unfortunately couldn't finish their assignment, and thus, here I am. I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it!
> 
> happy holidays! <3

Dorian, a perfectionist and lover of all things symbolic, planned the evening down to the tiniest details. The restaurant. The boat. The walk in the park. And then, finally, the rings, hidden inside the velvet box inside his suit jacket pocket. Everything would go smoothly.

He knocks onto Bull’s door exactly at six in the evening, looking like the main character from a spy movie.

Bull, however, opens the door wearing his favorite pair of jeans - old, washed-out and purposefully worn around the knees and thighs - along with a tight pink shirt that has a v-neck that Bull knows makes Dorian’s muth water.

They look at each other in stunned silence for several seconds.

“Oh,” Dorian says.

“Oh,” Bull says.

An awkward silence settles.

Dorian told Bull he’d made these reservations three months prior, but forgot to tell him about the dress code; assumed it was obvious, given how long they had to wait to actually dine there. _Idiot._

“Shit, I didn’t know we were going to _that_ kind of restaurant. Fuck. I’m sorry. Wait for me to change?”

“Of course, don’t worry about it,” Dorian says, closing the front door as Bull rushes up the stairs. Deep down, however, he’s screaming; they could very well lose the reservation if they get there mere fifteen minutes too late. However, he trusts Bull to change quickly, and he can always drive like a maniac if needed.

Dorian hears cursing from upstairs.

“Everything alright?” He asks, already getting up from the couch.

“Uh.” Is all Bull replies. Bad sign.

Dorian sprints up the stairs and enters Bull’s bedroom, his eyes widening.

Bull’s suit jacket stretches uncomfortably over his shoulders and biceps, and the pants don’t go up any further over his massive thighs. Bull looks extremely apologetic.

“I haven’t worn this suit in five years,” he explains, sighing, and Dorian rushes forward to help him out of the jacket. “I was graduating from college when I got it. I didn’t think I grew this much since then.”

Dorian remembers seeing the picture of Bull’s graduation; he was much smaller and younger, not nearly as buff or chubby as he is nowadays. Dorian doesn’t have a problem with it, honestly, but the restaurant surely will.

“Don’t worry, at least the waistcoat fits. Put on that lovely purple shirt you have, that black tie I love, you know the one, the slacks you wore to my company’s new year party, and--” He fetches a pair of dress shoes from the bottom of the closet, placing them next to Bull’s armchair. “These shoes. Crisis averted.”

Bull winces. “My purple shirt is not ironed, though. None of my shirts are.”

Normally, Dorian would offer to iron them before Bull puts it on, but he looks at the clock. Five past six.

“No time for ironing, unfortunately, you’ll just have to make do with your charm and lovely bone structure.”

Dorian ends up helping him put on the outfit, telling Bull to fix his tie in the car, and in record time they’re out the door, Bull looking mildly uncomfortable in his wrinkled shirt next to Dorian’s crisp three-piece suit. Halfway to the restaurant, Bull jolts in his seat and curses.

“What?” Dorian asks, worried, and Bull grunts, putting his forehead on his hand.

“My house keys. I left them in my jeans. I locked myself out of my house _again_.”

Dorian feels guilt heavy on his gut. If he hadn’t practically pushed Bull out of his own house he wouldn’t have forgotten the keys.

But it’s all going to be worth it. The restaurant. The boat. The park. The _rings_.

“Not to worry, amatus. You can stay at my place tonight, and tomorrow morning I’ll drive you back and open it with my key, how does that sound?”

“Hm. Sounds great,” Bull says, distracted, trying to smooth down his shirt. Dorian frowns.

Once at the restaurant, the host side-eyes Bull - or rather, Bull’s outfit and his massive horns. Dorian wants nothing more than to strangle her.

“Serah, our restaurant expects a certain... dress attire.”

Dorian huffs, annoyed. “Honestly. Did you never have a day where even your best outfits betrayed you? Have some sympathy, lady.”

She turns her nose up and glares, and the only reason Dorian doesn’t flinch is because he’s had much worse looks coming from his mother. “I _have_ sympathy, _serah_ , but I need to abide to certain rules.”

“Babe, it’s fine,” Bull whispers, sounding nervous, and Dorian fumes.

“It is _not_ fine. I’ve had this reservation for _months_. I want to talk to your manager.”

The manager comes, and Dorian pulls her to the side and explains the situation. The restaurant. The boat. The park. Mostly, though, _the rings_. She understands and agrees to make an exception for them both, and Dorian promises to make sure he and his date are wearing more appropriate outfits next time.

Bull enters the restaurant behind Dorian and takes the seat against the wall. He doesn’t look excited, however; he looks to be trying to make himself look small and uninteresting, and Dorian tries hard not to fuss. They hold hands over the table, Dorian’s thumb rubbing over Bull’s knuckles.

“Talk to me, amatus. What is it?”

Bull sighs, rubbing his neck and the base of his horn. “I’m just... super uncomfortable. Everyone here is so much more well dressed than I am, you know?”

Oh, no. Bull’s _uncomfortable_.

Dorian could punch himself right about now.

“Do you want to go back home? I don’t mind if you do. We didn’t order anything yet anyway.”

Bull gives him a half-smile. “Nah, don’t worry about it, kadan. I’m still excited to try out the food here, you always talk about it. I promise if it gets to be too much I’ll let you know, okay?”

Dinner ends up being terrible.

Water takes nearly twenty minutes to arrive. Bull’s portion of steak is laughable. Dorian’s risotto is bland. Their wine is warm. The bread is crumbly and the butter they’re supposed to have with it is rock-hard. Dessert is much too sweet for their liking.

Dorian pays while also refraining from complaining to not worsen their already damp mood, but makes a mental note to never ever return.

In the car they both take off their ties and tailcoats, and Bull opens the first three buttons of his shirt and reclines on his seat, sighing out with obvious relief.

“Now what?” Bull asks, looking sideways at Dorian.

The next part, Dorian tells himself, _cannot_ go wrong.

He drives them to the docks of the river, trying to contain his excitement. According to the online reviews, the ride is very romantic, stopping at the best spots for pictures and serving champagne with fresh grapes to everyone. Bull lifts a brow when they step out and spots the boat docked, fairy lights wrapped around the mast.

“Well?” Dorian asks, almost bouncing at the ball of his feet. “Shall we?”

“This should be interesting,” Bull says, holding Dorian’s hand. They smile, peck each other on the lip, and hop on aboard, choosing a comfortable love seat to lounge and sip on their drinks while they wait for the boat to undock.

Fifty minutes later, the storm begins.

The winds are so strong the boat tips and shakes precariously. The one dozen couples on the romantic cruise - Bull and Dorian included, of course - have bulky, orange life vests on and are holding on to each other and whatever part of the boat they can grab onto. Bull is shivering, Dorian’s nose is dripping uncontrollably because of the cold, his dry clean only pants soaked to hell and back, and somewhere, someone’s been puking quite violently for the last five minutes, and really, Dorian doesn’t blame them, although he’s silently cursing them for it; he’s feeling nauseous himself, and the noises of other people being sick themselves surely does not help. The company promised him he needn’t worry about his seasickness since he’d _most surely_ have an _usually calm ride_ , and right now all he wants is to punch the person who convinced him to buy these tickets - preferably on solid ground and while he’s taking an antacid.

It takes them thirty minutes to dock once more - thirty minutes of fear, cold, and whiplash. Both Dorian and Bull are more than a little queasy by the time they step down and out of the boat - Dorian, miraculously, managed to not puke, but wonders if that didn’t just made him feel that much worse. Dorian’s so relieved he could kiss the damp grass, had he the energy for something else other than keeping himself upright.

They walk leisurely to Dorian’s car, not even caring about the rain, since they’re already soaked to the bone, and once in, Dorian immediately turns the heater on to the max and chucks his shirt to the back seat. Bull follows suit.

“Well.” Dorian says once he knows for sure that the risotto has given up on making an appearance.

Bull chuckles.

“Well indeed.”

Dorian covers his face with his hands. He feels awful. Better, sure, but _awful_.

“Bull, I am so sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t think to look at the weather forecast. This is just... _ugh_.”

“Don’t worry about it, kadan. You heard what the sailors said. The storm caught everyone by surprise. No one knew about it, and you’re no psychic to predict the weather.”

“No, but still!” Dorian gets up slightly from his seat, leans over and touches Bull’s chest. It’s still ice cold. Dorian bites his lip, and Bull waits patiently. “Today was supposed to be _perfect_ , and I--”

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

Dorian jumps, frightened by the sudden noise, his heat hitting the car’s ceiling. Outside, a cop, very well protected by an umbrella and a raincoat, knocks once again on his window.

“No funny business around these parts, boys!” He shouts, frowning. “Move along!”

“ _We were just talking!_ ” Dorian screeches at him, most undignified, but rights the seat of his car and turns the ignition on, making the tires screech as he drives away from the cop, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

The car ends up silent once more, but in a bad way. Dorian wants to break the tension somehow but doesn’t know what to say without sounding like he wants to cry.

“Dorian?” Bull says, five minutes later. Dorian doesn't know if he’s relieved or filled with dread.

“...yes?”

“You’re, uh. Driving to my house. Which we don’t have the keys to.”

“ _Vishante kaffas!!_ ”

Dorian hits the brakes, the car screeching to a halt in the middle of a suburban street. The rain seems to rar as it falls heavily atop the car’s hood. Dorian leans onto the steering wheel and hides his face in his hands.

“Come on, babe, don’t be like that,” Bull whispers, hand rubbing Dorian’s back soothingly. Dorian sobs.

“This is _terrible_. Everything went wrong. I just wanted tonight to be _perfect_.”

“Hey, tonight wasn’t so bad. We’ve had way worse. Remember when I secretly decorated your room with stripweed and you almost died sneezing?”

Dorian laughs, breathless. He had to call a cleaning crew to get rid of all the vestiges of stripweed from his apartment.

“How could I forget? I spent three days at your house, and you bought me new clothes since I had to wash everything I had in my closet at least twice. It wasn’t all bad.”

“You say that now, but all I can remember is your red nose, your puffy eyes, and how miserable you looked.”

Dorian chuckles.

“See, at least we’re now in a nice and warm car, both shirtless, and we’re gonna cuddle all night long. Maybe everything else wasn’t perfect, but let's focus on what’s coming up next, shall we?”

“Yes, yes. You have a point, that does sound--”

_BEEEEEEEEP_.

A buggy goes around them, pressing down heavily onto the horn, clearly annoyed at Dorian’s car blocking the right lane. Dorian retaliates by pressing his much louder and more intimidating horn for several seconds longer. Someone screams from one of the houses, threatening to call the police. Bull laughs.

“Come on, you’re not good to drive. Trade with me.”

Bull takes them to Dorian’s apartment safely. Dorian unlocks the door, they undress down to their boxers, and Bull takes their waterlogged clothes, socks and shoes to the dryer.

Dorian carries his suit jacket to the living room with him, where he turns on the electric fireplace and collapses on the beanbag next to it. His cat Tidarion comes meowing and curls up on his lap, and Dorian sighs.

He fishes the little velvet box from inside the jacket before throwing it onto the couch. He opens the box, longingly staring at the pair of rings inside; the sparkly pink rhodolite garnet that adorns Bull’s silver band and the deep purple sapphire that goes onto Dorian’s graphite band. Two matching rings with precious gems that represents each of them.

He tried, wished, _hoped_ tonight would be perfect, but the results couldn’t be further from it. But maybe, just _maybe_ , he could still...

Suddenly, Dorian hears a _thud_. He jumps, quickly closing the box with a loud clack, hiding it by cupping his hands against his chest. Tidarion meows loudly, and Dorian feels cold dread running through him.

He slowly turns around, only to find Bull standing just a few feet from his bean bag, eye wide and jaw dropped open, two water glasses tumbled over the thick, wool carpet.

“...you saw what I had in my hand, didn’t you.”

Bull doesn’t answer. He just steps around the glasses, then kneels in front of Dorian, hands on his thighs, jaw still open, eye glinting with something that could be joy, could be just sheer shock.

Dorian thinks of how he wanted to wait until the sunset, when they were enjoying the last sunrays, in between the shade of the trees at the park. Now, here they are, in Dorian’s apartment, naked down to their (damp and cold) boxers, the fireplace crackling, the rain going pitter-patter against the apartment’s windows, Tidarion purring and curling up further in his spot atop Dorian’s stomach.

...all in all, Dorian thinks, it could’ve been worse.

Wordlessly, Dorian reveals the box in his hands and turns it to Bull. He wishes he was kneeling or something, but it likely wouldn’t change Bull’s reaction in the slightest. He gasps, his fingernails digging into Dorian’s bare legs, his lips pressing together until they’re nearly white. His eye begins to water, and Dorian could almost cry too.

He had this whole spiel memorized, about how he wants to have many other perfect days such as this with him for the rest of their lives, but now it just won’t make any sense. So he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, fingers tightening around the box.

“I know... tonight wasn’t perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination. But I know this: if there’s anyone I wouldn’t mind sharing a horrid, disastrous situation with, that person would most certainly be you. You were most gracious throughout the day, never blamed me for anything although many things I know I was at least partially to blame, and managed to turn it around to the point where I feel like I would rather not be anywhere else. Not even spending my supposedly perfect day the way I’d envisioned it.”

He takes Bull’s silverite ring, sets the box aside, then looks Bull straight in the eye.

“Bull. My love. My amatus. Will you do me the honor of also being my husband?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

Bull’s screech scares Tidarion, who lifts his head and complains with a loud meow. Both Dorian and Bull laugh, both of them now with tears rolling down their cheeks, and Tidarion jumps away as they lean towards each other to kiss. Dorian then takes Bull’s hand in his and slides the ring onto his ring finger.

...all the way to the second knuckle.

Dorian freezes. He feels the blood draining from his face. Bull, as if on cue, starts laughing uncontrollably.

_Well_.

The jewel store _did_ say they could adjust the ring size as needed for no additional cost. But _still_.

“I’m.” Dorian starts, covering his mouth with one hand and closing his eye. Praying for the Old Gods for stability. “Hm.”

“Speechless?” Bull asks in between giggles. Dorian sighs, centers himself.

“When we tell the story to all of our friends and relatives,” Dorian says, his voice low and even, placing the ring instead onto Bull’s pinkie. It fits perfectly. _Kaffas_. “We’ll _conveniently_ forget to tell them about the day as a whole. We’ll just say you accepted my proposal right away, as you did, that you loved the ring, also true, and that we had amazing, sweaty sex all night long.”

Bull doesn’t say anything; just keeps smiling goofily. Dorian is under no impression that he’d keep the promise if he’d committed to it, but at the moment Dorian tells himself no one will ever hear about any of this, and that the entire day will be buried in their memories and not perpetuated as a family story for the ages.

Dorian is no fool, of course, but one can at least have _some_ sliver of hope.

Bull takes the little velvet box, pulls the second ring out, and gently takes Dorian’s hand in his. It slides perfectly onto his ring finger. Dorian rather likes the idea of never taking it off.

They kiss again, and now Dorian can’t deny the smile etched almost permanently over his lips.

“So,” Bull whispers, hands resting again against Dorian’s thighs, ever so slowly roaming further up. Dorian hums and shivers. “About that promise of a night of amazing, sweaty sex?”

Dorian grins, starts pulling Bull by his buttocks, then widens his eyes and freezes.

“Wait. _The glasses_. I’m going to fucking step on them, aren’t I.”

Bull laughs again, throwing himself back on his butt and covering his face with his hand. Dorian huffs and gets up, picking the glasses off the floor and taking them back to the kitchen.

“Laugh all you like,” he declares once he’s back, Bull now holding his stomach as he rolls on the carpet with laugher, “but I will _not_ end this evening having to either go or be taken to the ER because we forgot and ended up smashing them with our feet in the middle of a makeout session. I _refuse_ letting anything else go awry today.”

“We should probably forget about the steamy sex then, kadan,” Bull says, breathless, and maybe just a tad hysterical. “We’ll probably end up _spraining_ something, or _worse_ , losing something in someone’s butt. I can _feel_ it.”

“Oh, hush, you great oaf,” Dorian grumbles, cheeks flushing, then kneels down onto the floor and kisses Bull’s grinning lips.

Dorian nearly did sprain something, in the end, just as Bull predicted - or _jinxed_ , depending on the point of view. In the end, however, Dorian merely wakes up with his muscles a bit more sore than usual, yet undeniably and unabashedly happy. Bull peppers him with kisses and brings all their meals to bed, where they spend the entire day together, the pink stone shimmering proudly on his pinkie and the purple stone gleaming against the daylight.

And to Dorian, it is _perfect_.


End file.
